


A Wise Voice Once Said

by jiokra



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Finds Out, Canon Era, Dragons, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-15
Updated: 2012-12-15
Packaged: 2017-11-20 10:16:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiokra/pseuds/jiokra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the return journey of an epic quest, a sorcerer is exposed and a prince whisked away in the palm of a fire-breathing dragon -- just an ordinary day in the lives of Merlin and Arthur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Wise Voice Once Said

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eldee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldee/gifts).



> Hope this is something you'd like, eldee! Happy holidays!
> 
> Also, it's not explicitly stated in the fic, but Gwaine is aware of Merlin's magic.

Arthur Pendragon was sent in early autumn on a quest to prove his worthiness as the future king, venturing to faraway lands in pursuit of a rare flower that myth said held the ability to heal all ailments no matter how slight or severe. To retrieve the flower tested Arthur’s endurance to do all he could to benefit the people of Camelot, whether their need be health, wealth, or anything else, and the wounds that stung under his chainmail proved testament to the determination that guided him in acquiring the flower that was now tucked away in his armor. Joining Arthur on the quest had been a sorcerer, Merlin, who masqueraded as a humble servant, and Gwaine, a valued friend and a knight in all but law.

In the return journey to Camelot, the trio traveled along a curvy road sheltered from the surrounding forest by brambles and fallen branches. Gwaine sat tall and gallant upon his horse, but for Arthur remaining stoic became a challenging task since Merlin endlessly blabbered about incessant topics.

“Who even cares whether the chicken wasn’t prepared? I told the cook you didn’t even ask for it, but no, it had to be done _perfectly_ , and _how dare I presume it mustn’t be presented to the prince_ , and _young man, get out of my kitchen_. And all I wanted was a plate of fruit, but of course that couldn’t be done because the world is out to get me, starting with your breakfast, which just tops the cake really because ‘breakfast is the most important meal of the day,’ and not to mention the _beginning_ of the day, so –”

“Merlin,” said Arthur, intonating with a regal air he knew set Merlin on edge, “you never did give me chicken or fruit. I am led to believe you are making all of this up.”

Merlin straightened his spine, and as he made to speak the retort that laid restless on the tip of his tongue, a flock of birds flew out from the trees like a clap of thunder, and the men halted their horses, watching as the birds disappeared into the overcast sky. Gwaine unsheathed his sword, but Arthur held out a hand to signal silence. With astute eyes and piqued ears, he surveyed the forests, and found the stillness unnatural, a silence too blaring to be organic. He leaned to Merlin, ordering him to shoot an arrow from his crossbow into any bush in the surrounding forest. Merlin did so without question, despite his hold on the crossbow still amateur. Merlin aimed at a bush several paces within the forest, and when the arrow shot out and flew into the bush, it hit something that let out a loud groan. The trio were off their horses and standing with weapons ready before the bandits even poked their noses out from their hiding places.

It was all metal and clanging – Arthur swiped at flesh and tore out guts. He spun around swords like smoke swirling above campfire, with the grace of a dancer yet all the ferocity of a warrior weighting down his movements like the armor on his body.

When he was certain he had gained the upper hand, he spun around to see how Merlin and Gwaine were faring. Gwaine had a bandit cornered by a tree and was fencing more so than battling, but Merlin had disappeared. His crossbow was abandoned on the dirt, smashed and rendered unusable. As Arthur made to pick up the crossbow, a bandit charged at him and he regarded the man with his fully devoted attention, but before the man dared to make an advance, Gwaine leapt and plunged his sword into the man’s back. 

“All right, there, mate?” said Gwaine, shaking away the brown hairs the fell onto his forehead.

“Have you seen Merlin?” asked Arthur.

“Merlin? No, I haven’t – he mustn’t be missing?”

Arthur swallowed down the tension building in his throat. “I can’t be certain. Perhaps he hid away in the forest to wait out the battle.”

“That doesn’t sound like him," said Gwaine. He shook his sword, proving the bandit trapped by the blade to have passed on, and he pulled the sword out in a fluid motion. "But he might have wandered off somehow. Go check the forests. I can handle these sorry excuses for attackers on my own.”

Arthur nodded, casting a final glance at the battle ensuing before diving into the forest. Over his shoulder, he said to Gwaine, “Be careful,” but doubted the words were heard for he was too distracted by Merlin’s disappearance to speak loudly.

Tree branches scratched his limbs, and he sliced through the woods with his sword, not minding the noise created in his wake. For every second that Merlin led astray from his sight, unspeakable dangers might encroach the defenseless servant. Nobody was to suffer for Arthur’s sake, and especially not a servant as loyal as Merlin. He had been trekking through the forest for a long time when it dawned on him that he might have taken the wrong path, but no sooner had the worry crossed his mind before yelling sounded ahead that was unmistakably Merlin.

“ _Ahh, dragon!_ ” shouted Merlin, and he spoke a series of syllables that were indistinguishable to Arthur’s ears, even as Arthur grew closer. A wisp of red emerged amidst the foliage. Arthur sprint toward the sight of Merlin’s scarf, but soon his senses caught up with his limbs, and he realized that Merlin was not speaking anything indistinguishable – indeed, it was highly distinguishable. By aide of the library in his mind, filled with tomes of ancient proverbs and histories long kept hidden to the folk separated from the nobility, Arthur very well knew what language Merlin spoke – magic, and that of the dragons. Legs stopped running on their own accord, and halting in the sea of plants and dirt, Arthur listened to Merlin’s shouts, ignoring the thunderous beats of his heart.

“ _Dragon!_ ” roared Merlin, in a cadence built deep in his diaphragm.

Through the trees Arthur could see his head tilted far back, eyes searching the sky. The jugular vein in his throat was pulsing, circulating energy through his body – energy Arthur never believed him capable of possessing, and the revelation of Merlin’s strength nearly caused the sword to fall from his grasp.

The wings of a dragon assaulted the forest with strong winds, swaying trees despite the thickness of their trunks. Arthur even stumbled from the immense force. With a grand flap of its wings done primarily for extravagance, the dragon settled before a glowering Merlin, a smirk tugging at the corners of its mouth. “Hello, old friend,” said the dragon with a rumbling chortle. “So we meet again.”

“You are no friend of mine,” said Merlin. “Not after what you did when I freed you and not now after you let this conceited prank go on long enough.”

At Merlin’s words, Arthur examined every detail of the dragon; neither a scale nor sliver of arrogance evaded him. _But I killed that dragon_ , he thought. _Merlin told me I fought him valiantly._

“My, my! What wild accusations you make, young warlock. I know not what you speak.”

“You’re lying! Those bandits, the ones you had guard your cave when we came in search of the flower, remember them? They’ve stalked us like prey and attacked us. The battle is bound to be going on as we speak.”

The dragon laughed heartily, dipping its head back, and its guffaws vibrated every stick and rock on the forest floor. “Have they found you? They must have done so on their own inclination. I have ceased my dominion over them days ago.”

Merlin shook his head. “Given the history of your actions, I don’t find myself believing you.”

“Then fall into dismay by aide of your own delusions, young warlock, for I have done no harm.”

“You are nothing but a liar and a cheat.” Merlin shook his fists, his frail body quaking with the anger that drenched his sweet voice with venom. “I’ve protected you time and again from Camelot when Uther comes close to killing you, and this is how you repay me? By sending the bandits after us? I had let you live years ago when I should have let Arthur kill you, I granted you mercy, but you have done little to show gratitude for my kindness. What stops me from finishing what should have been done before and killing you now when we are alone?”

“What a one-sided tale you speak,” growled the dragon, but it smiled – sharp, pointed tips of fangs protruding from scaled lips.

Arthur swelled with fright despite his better judgment. Before he could stop the reflex from happening, he fidgeted with his grip on the hilt of his sword; his boots crunched sticks and leaves beneath his feet. The dragon, whose gaze was raking over Merlin’s gangly form, jerked its attention to the forest. The despair in the dragon’s eyes bore into Arthur’s soul, and a memory flickered in his mind of the fire-breathing monster wreaking havoc over his father’s kingdom.

Frozen where he stood, Arthur inhaled shallow breaths as the dragon sauntered into the forest, its massive shoulders breaking the tree trunks obstructing its path, tail whipping behind its scaled body. Merlin shouted after the dragon in the language only they spoke, but the dragon displayed no sign that it heard his pleas other than the slight twitch on its forehead as it fought against the magnetism of a dragonlord’s command. With a gasp of air that did not fill his lungs, Arthur was whisked into the dragon’s paw. He stabbed and slashed his sword against the dragon, but not even a scratch defamed the monstrous beast’s flesh.

“If you accuse me of bringing harm to you and your friends, then I shall commit a crime that warrants your wrath,” said the dragon. With those words hanging over them, the dragon kicked off from the forest floor and flapped its wings thrice before soaring above treetops.

Arthur saw through the spaces between yellow talons Merlin jumping and shouting down below in the forest. Were Arthur not becoming disoriented at the sudden rises and dips in altitude, he would have connected the flashes of gold in Merlin’s eyes to magic. But he was growing dizzy and nauseous from the flight and could barely hold his head up, much less be cognizant, and in the scaled palm he drifted into unconsciousness, tender heart pounding, and digested until he slipped in dreamless slumber the newfound knowledge of Merlin being a dragonlord.

: :

Spells to slow Kilgharrah down, commands as a dragonlord for him to release Arthur – neither worked and the dragon became nothing more than a speck in the midday sky. Merlin grasped at his hair and pulled until his scalp burned like fire. His eyes stung, but he feared the risk of shutting them and losing sight of Arthur. 

Kilgharrah was a wise old dragon, and as a wise old dragon he would not hide Arthur in areas Merlin knew to be one of his secret escapes. Merlin could not force Kilgharrah to give him Arthur for the dragon was angry enough to evade his dragonlord commands. He groaned and spun in circles, whisking around ideas on solutions to this plight, but accomplished only to make himself stumble and fall backward into a bush. Twigs poked his skin through his leather cardigan, but his mind was too clouded to notice the pain.

Sticks crunched a small ways from his ears, and he peered from the corner of his eye, eagerness heavy in his heart hoping Arthur found a way to escape and that the crunching belonged to him. It was not Arthur who caused the noise but Gwaine, yet Merlin still felt soothed at the sight of Gwaine racing through the forest toward him. 

Once Merlin was helped to his feet and explained the kidnapping to Gwaine, the pair settled off into the forest at a jogging pace. Gwaine inquired greatly about Kilgharrah, and Merlin answered all questions to the best of his ability, but his responses came out a tinge snappy and quick. The kidnapping looped infinitely in his memory, and the detail that Merlin stewed the longest on was Arthur learning of his magic in scenario far worse than his imagination.

The sun was disappearing over the horizon when Gwaine could not take anymore of the dark cloud hanging over Merlin. “What else are you not telling me?” he asked.

They jogged for a good while before Merlin spoke. Although the words only hollowly represented the agonizing uncertainties that pervaded his thoughts, he nevertheless replied by saying, “He heard me speaking to Kilgharrah as a dragonlord would. What if he believes I ordered to kidnap him?”

Gwaine furrowed his dark eyebrows. “Don't be ridiculous. Arthur isn’t like that.”

Not another peep came out from either of them. The forest vibrated with the rhythm of chainmail clanking along to Gwaine’s long strides and the drumming of their boots colliding with the forest floor. Yet a silence lingered between the pair that became hard for Gwaine ignore. “He does admire you,” he elaborated. “I didn’t say that only to bring you comfort. It’s obvious to me and obvious to everyone else. He doesn’t see you as simply a servant, but a friend, and one who has risked life and death for him. Arthur is an honorable man and would not set aside your friendship just because he’s learned more about you.”

Merlin snorted. “Oh, yes. He’s definitely learned more about me.”

“I’m serious, Merlin. There is no way he can hold any ill will toward you, believe me.”

“I do,” said Merlin. “I believe you. At least, I know there is no reason not to.”

They continued jogging until the sky no longer glowed scarlet but shone with vibrant stars hanging in an ocean of foggy, black air. Goosebumps rose on their arms and legs, exhalations froze to mist as the air escaped their lungs. But for all their jogging, they accomplished only exiting the forest and finding a road, which they traveled by walking rather than jogging for they needed the rest.

Despite Gwaine’s reassurances, Merlin still examined the situation through his own lenses, convinced as ever that Arthur must feel nothing for him but pure hatred of magic. Yet whenever he sunk too deep into dark thoughts, he clung to the hope Gwaine presented that the years of friendship had meant something to Arthur. Not only since Merlin sacrificed life and death for Arthur, but if Merlin were honest with himself, he cared about Arthur more than a servant and a friend should. He had no classification for the love felt toward Arthur, but he acknowledged it to be a different kind that bore no resemblance to what he felt for his mother, Gaius, or any other friend. Arthur was different, and the thought of Arthur rejecting Merlin’s friendship because of his magic, a quality that was more instinctual than breathing, terrified him. Merlin wanted to tell Gwaine this, hoping for advice as sound as the words Gwaine told him earlier, but he perceived it too private to share.

Merlin was shaken from his thoughts by the sound of soaring wings. He turned to Gwaine, who had his sword out and was scanning the sky. All the emotion that tangled Merlin’s weary body joined together in a cacophonous roar. “ _Dragon!_ ” he cried. In the language of the dragonlords, he went on, “Come down from the skies, you wretched beast, and return to me what you stole!”

As soon as the words left his lips, the wings slowed its beating and a looming black mass came down from the sky, slowly revealing itself to be Kilgharrah, who landed smiling and looking like he enjoyed the reunion occurring in the road. But when it was apparent that Arthur was not with him, Gwaine advanced with his sword, aiming not for any visceral areas but mainly to frighten the beast into revealing Arthur’s whereabouts. Of course his sword could not even scratch a scale, and Kilgharrah laughed as if the sword merely tickled him.

“What have you done to Arthur?” said Merlin. “I command you as a dragonlord to tell me.”

Kilgharrah smiled. “Why must you speak in such hostile tones? As you can see, Arthur is not with me. This is because shortly after taking him, I set him back where I found him. Only you were not there.”

“Your trickery is not funny, dragon,” said Gwaine, keeping his sword brandished despite its futility.

“Indeed, it is not,” said Kilgharrah. “Unfortunately I am not certain where your prince may be, but I have an idea about who is now keeping him from you.” 

When the dragon did not elaborate any further, Merlin waved his arms, urging for more.

“There is a castle in the center of this forest. In it lives a young dragon I’ve only recently discovered survived the massacre that killed so many of our kind. She must have become attracted to the activity of another dragon in her forest and sought me out, but of course found a prize she liked much more than me. With her you will find Arthur.”

Kilgharrah began to stretch his wings and prepare for flight, but Merlin crossed his arms and crooked his jaw. “I command you to fly us to this castle,” he said.

He raised an eyebrow in a challenge when Kilgharrah hesitated, but the dragon let out a wretched sigh and bent an arm, allowing Merlin and Gwaine to climb onto his back, and soon the three were soaring over the forest high enough that a tall, grey tower was visibly peaking over treetops. Merlin could not fight the grin and jovial laughter that came bursting out his lips.

: :

Arthur awoke tied to a chair with his armor digging into his body in excruciating pain whenever he squirmed under the restraints.

Candles were lit all around him, hitting stone walls at sharp angles that gave little detail away about the room Arthur was trapped in, but by nature of being a prince, he deducted that he was in a thrown room. A dusty throne room, he noted, as a sneeze built up in his nose -- a sneeze that built and built without a satisfactory release to come about. A woman hummed somewhere in the shadowy corners beyond the perimeters of the candlelight. Arthur hoped she might have been another captive, but he was not so foolish as to call out to her and find out.

He toyed with the leather straps that tied his hands to the chair, and wiggled his nose as another sneeze began to build. He stilled his hands and squeezed his eyes shut when this sneeze felt more and more like it was going to be satisfied, but try as he might to stifle the urge, he eventually sneezed. It was a loud sneeze, luckily not a messy one. His chest heaved and pressed firmly on the rope that bound his body to the long stretch of the chair against his back. He fought for gasps of air, but it was a trial to breathe deeply with rope constricting his movements. When his breathing calmed to normal he noticed with dread that the humming had stopped and the throne room was silent except for the noise of his body writhing against his restraints.

“Hello?” he said, tugging his right hand fiercely. “I know you’re out there. May as well show yourself now.”

A sweet little sigh came from the darkness. “Oh, the gossip was said your voice was simply beautiful, but it didn’t mention what a prince charming you sound like.”

There was a strange scratching noise. Arthur blinked his eyes owlishly, believing the woman was walking in heels and unaccustomed about how to walk in the shoes properly, but the racket was too irregular for footsteps. Arthur held firm to the idea that the noise was indeed strange, and he fought vigorously to free a hand.

“Don’t be frightened,” said the woman, as the scratching grew louder, closer, “my prince.”

Arthur saw no use in struggling but acquiring burns on skin, so he ceased tugging at his bounds and let his head roll back. He stared at the ceiling and listened to the scratching become more erratic. If only Merlin had not been idiot and gone off to speak with a dragon, Arthur would not be in this mess.

Merlin. Arthur had nearly forgotten all about him. He vowed that after finding an escape from this throne room, he would track down Merlin and make him do the laundry, muck out the stables, polish his armor, give him a massage, and other things Arthur still brainstormed over but decided would be time consuming, exhausting chores. Listening to someone froth over his voice in a candlelit throne room gave him perspective on life, and he figured hating Merlin for his incompetency as a servant was far more important than hating him for being a dragonlord.

The scratching eventually stopped, but in its wake was a foul stench that smelled like stables and unwashed laundry. Arthur kept his head back and peered through slightly open eyelids. But then he took one gander at the enormous dragon before him and was startled into sitting up straight, hissing as armor stabbed his ribs.

“What on Earth? You’re – how – _there’s two of you_?” sputtered Arthur.

He was supposed to have killed the first dragon over a year, and here this second dragon raked her eyes over him with the ulterior motives blatant in the slow whisking of her tail. This had to be Merlin’s fault. Arthur would find a sound argument to prove Merlin’s guilt.

Clearing his throat, Arthur put on the most charming, princely grin at his disposal, and it must have worked for the dragon cooed. “Why, forgive my rudeness earlier,” he drawled. “I was simply in awe that there is such a, erm, devastatingly beautiful lady such as yourself in all the kingdoms.”

“Me? A lady?” She batted her eyelids, although the act was not a pretty sight in the absence of lashes. “You’re far too kind, my sweet prince.”

“No, no. I am simply not kind enough.”

The dragon smiled, revealing rows of rotten teeth, and the stench of her breath made his eyes water. “I’m so very glad you see me as a lady and not a beast.” 

Arthur let out a healthy round of tut-tut. “Why ever would I not see you as a lady? You show more elegance and grace than all the court ladies that arrive in my father’s kingdom seeking marriage.”

“Oh, I’m so very glad you think so,” she said, and she swept around him. He was ill prepared for what happened next – her tongue, slimy with saliva, licked the top of his head in what he assumed was the dragon version of a kiss. Now the stench was on his head. He feared he might vomit. “Those court ladies need not bother you any sooner.”

Arthur pursed his lips. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“Your hand, my prince. Take a look at your hand.”

The stench might not have made him vomit, but the band around his left ring finger let a sour taste rise into his mouth. “Oh, that is – that –”

“Of course it’s not the real thing,” she said, curling around the back of his chair and resting her chin on his forearm. “We’ll have to marry in Camelot for this to be real. But we can do that in the morning. Let us first take this night to –” she licked his hand “– get to know each other.”

It was then that Gwaine came crashing through the window, scattering a rainbow of stained glass shards to the floor, and he landed on the dragon’s back, diving his sword deeply under her shoulder blade. Arthur had yet to process the dragon’s wailing, but she beat her wings once before taking off into the air, the force of her movement strong enough to topple Arthur’s chair.

Merlin jumped in front of him, toying with the restraints on one of his hands, which came off with surprising ease. He set the chair upright and smiled at Arthur with that ridiculous, addictive smile of his, then turned toward the window, exclaiming, “Thanks! Will call again when we need you!” The dragon that kidnapped Arthur earlier breathed fire outside the window, flames licking the exposed windowpane, and flapped its wings, sailing off into the night.

“Well,” said Arthur, “I see you’ve met my wife.” He waved his free arm toward Gwaine and the dragon, who were flying and banging into walls and the ceiling. 

“She’s quite lovely. Very pretty eyes.”

Merlin kept smiling that ridiculous grin of his, eyes closed in half-moons and crinkled at the corners, and his massive ears seemed to grow twice their size. _He is a dragonlord_ , thought Arthur. _I should have him burned at the stake not only for that, but for letting that blasted dragon live._ But Arthur was not the sort of man that listened to ‘shoulds,’ and nobody knew about Merlin’s powers but him. It was his duty as a friend to keep Merlin safe from harm, and when looking at that infuriating smile, Arthur found not an ounce of him wishing harm on Merlin.

Then Merlin shook his head, letting the smile fly away from his face and into the air. His blue eyes flashed golden, and the bounds that kept Arthur restrained to the chair untied without Merlin touching a single one. Merlin took his hand and urged him to stand, but Arthur was an unmovable force stubbornly staying seated. The face that had smiled so brilliantly moments before was etched with worry, and Merlin froze once Arthur said in a small voice, “You are a sorcerer?”

A proverbial bubble of silence surrounded the pair, muffling the noises of Gwaine wrestling with the dragon. All around them became a blur as Arthur concentrated firmly on Merlin, who crumbled under the pressure and began to babble. Arthur only heard snatches of what he said, paying too close attention to his wide ears, bright eyes, and frail body possessing an ability that could only be described as sinister. 

“…I’ve wanted to tell you so many times, but it was too risky, and then time just kept going and I hadn’t said anything. And it seemed like there wasn’t a good time to tell you, and I didn’t …”

He had known Merlin for three years. In all that time, a sorcerer possessed entry to his bedchamber, chose his meals, accompanied him on hunts.

“Arthur, please,” said Merlin, and he did sound pleading. His eyes were rimmed with red and cheeks blotchy. “Say _something_.”

Not knowing what else to do, Arthur played with the wedding ring, twirling it around his finger. A wise voice, sounding a bit like the old wizard with the long white beard he met once long ago, advised him to reconsider and remember that if he accepted Merlin as a dragonlord, why should sorcery be anything else to mind? It was logical, Arthur admitted, and while betrayal held a sword to his heart, he knew no man as loyal as Merlin could be the evil caricature of sorcery that his father preached of.

Tilting his head, Arthur pointed across the throne room to where Gwaine fought valiantly to slay the dragon. “ _Merlin_ ,” he said, smirking, “are you so useless that you don’t see the perks of me now knowing? You should be making that dragon relinquish all control, not have Gwaine kill himself over there.”

Merlin laughed, a quick burst of nervous energy that was twice as infectious as his smiles and Arthur allowed himself to bump a fist on one of Merlin’s scrawny arms. Merlin looked about close to tears, and that was when Arthur cleared his throat, removing any trace of emotion from his face. “Don’t be such a sniveling little sap, _Merlin_. Honestly, you’re an embarrassment.”

Merlin raised his arm, and Arthur recoiled, afraid Merlin might do something drastic and attempt to hug him, but Merlin only wiped his tears on the sleeve of his leather cardigan before standing up and magicking the dragon into obedience.

Golden eyes flashed, fire spewed out of the dragon’s mouth, charring the waxed wooden floors of the throne room, and Arthur watched the proceedings in a trance, crafting ways to incorporate Merlin’s abilities into battle, and imagining other adventures yet to be explored.


End file.
